


A Little Bit of Politicking

by 0Rocky41_7



Series: Dancing Naked in the Moonlight [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Purple Hawke (Dragon Age), Rogue Hawke (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 14:42:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20931920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0Rocky41_7/pseuds/0Rocky41_7
Summary: The Champion of Kirkwall spends a great deal of time in the Gallows. Rumor is starting to spread that she favors the mages. What would First Enchanter Orsino do with the Champion’s favor?





	1. Whoops, that happened

**Author's Note:**

> This is very possibly the most self-indulgent thing I've ever posted. Please enjoy. It features my snarky rogue Hawke. See more about her on her [tumblr tag.](https://imakemywings.tumblr.com/tagged/theodora%20hawke)

The Champion of Kirkwall spent too much time at the Circle of Magi. Even Orsino, who had good reason to desire her help, was aware of this. Aware of what it looked like. He didn’t need Knight-Commander Meredith’s raging to tell him what the appearance of things was (although he got it anyway). He had even warned the Champion of this, but she only smiled and waved him off: the silly, incessant worries of an old man.

The Champion insisted on remaining neutral between the mages and Templars. Orsino knew she had given her help also to the Knight-Commander, but she had thus far avoided taking a side publicly. Both Meredith and Orsino had pleaded for her support, but she would not cave. The Champion’s snarky smiles and biting remarks defied any belief that she took a single thing on the Maker’s Earth seriously. She would not be dragged into the constant sniping between Kirkwall’s factions.

In a way, Orsino was grateful. While her vocal support for the mage cause might have girded their support among the common man, Meredith was unlikely to accept it. It might even exacerbate the Knight-Commander’s paranoia that the Circle was conspiring against her. Furthermore, it would certainly put a target on the Champion’s back as far as the Templars were concerned. That was not something he wanted to see.

But the look on the Knight-Commander’s face alone at the news that the Champion was publicly supporting Kirkwall’s mages would have been worth it. And the Champion had been a target before—she knew how to handle it.

Despite her stubborn refusal to openly back his complaints, Orsino liked the Champion. The easy light in her amber eyes, the careless grace with which she moved, her readiness to offer him assistance when she had no real cause to do so. She held no office, needed no job, had no magic. She had no reason to help the First Enchanter or the mages, and every reason to avoid him. As a mundane upper-class woman of Kirkwall, she was best served by the status quo—ergo, supporting the Templars was the obvious choice for her. Yet she came to him again and again, responding to his missives, offering news, even checking in just to see if he had additional work for her. She had persuaded runaway mages to return without violence, tracked down trouble-making Templars, and looked into more crimes than anyone in Kirkwall could count.

Many times he had asked why she persisted with this, but she turned away from answering just as she did with taking a side: she smiled and made a witty remark and moved on.

Selfishly, he had grown to enjoy her company. She was a spot of lightheartedness in the midst of the strain of caring for mages the Knight-Commander seemed determined to demonize. Her clever remarks could make even weary Orsino chuckle—and a few times, laugh outright—and the passion that thrived in her reminded him of a time when he was young, and vibrant. Not that he had ever been as the Champion of Kirkwall was—there was an energy to her that no one in the city could match, and that was part of what made her the Champion.

Perhaps he should have turned her away, insisted she cease in appearing to favor the mages, but he could not. Was it so unfair, to indulge in enjoyable company? Was he to deprive himself of everything that brought him the slightest shriveled bud of joy out of fear of Meredith’s irrational rage?

That was how the Champion came to be in his office, though he had told her over an hour ago he had no more tasks for her that day, sitting on the edge of his desk, telling another story of her company’s wild adventures.

“—and just as Varric says ‘Hawke, watch your feet!’ I stepped right on the damn wire! Lucky for us whoever set the traps was a few candles short of a full chandelier—neither of the explosives went off. Until we were maybe fifteen feet past, and then­ _wham_!” She gestured widely with her hands, grinning. “Grass ten feet around was scorched, splinters of wood from the crates everywhere. I looked at Varric and said ‘Thanks for the warning!’”

“Sometimes I think you alone are a sign of the Maker’s divine love, Champion,” the First Enchanter said with a wry smile. “He certainly seems to have his hand over you.”

“He must, here I am sitting in your office babbling away and you haven’t thrown me out yet,” she said.

“It’s enjoyable babbling,” Orsino said, threading his fingers together. “Your stories are something different from what I hear all day, from mages and Templars alike. It’s…nice.” The Champion’s smile renewed.

“Good, it’s nice to have someone who hasn’t heard all my stupid stories yet,” she said. “I think Varric’s wrung the Hanged Man dry of any possible audiences.”

“Not many people are looking to spend time in the Gallows,” Orsino said. “Let alone to come by and tell stories.”

“And miss out on your charming company, First Enchanter? They have no sense!” The Champion swung her feet and rested her hand on the desk, leaning in closer. There was no one else in Kirkwall who could have gotten away with sitting on Orsino’s desk without a withering look forcing them to withdraw, but the Champion’s breezy audacity granted her allowances most others did not have.

“Ha! That’s not a word I think most would apply there,” he said, looking back down at the paperwork he hadn’t touched in nearly an hour. He had given up some time ago on pretending he was still working while the Champion was talking. It didn’t please her just to yammer at him, no matter what she said—she sought his attention, and he found himself wanting to give it to her.

“You give yourself too little credit, First Enchanter,” the Champion said. “But if you knew my friends, I suppose you might not take it as a compliment.”

“You don’t care for your friends?” he asked, looking up.

“Oh, I love them! I wouldn’t have anyone else by my side!” She beamed. “But they’re…unique. One-of-a-kind. Oddballs. Fantastic company, but completely nuts, all of them.” Orsino raised a questioning eyebrow. “What can I say? Crazy has exactly been a turn _off_ for me.”

“Then I should be surprised you don’t spend more time in the Knight-Commander’s office,” he observed. The Champion barked out a laugh and dissolved into giggles.

“The Knight-Commander has no sense of humor,” she said. “I can’t do anything with that.”

“And you think you can do something here?” There were times—there had been times—when he thought the Champion was implying something. He did not spend much time considering _what_ she might be implying, or _why._ It did not seem like a thread he ought to pull on.

“It’s possible,” she said, moving closer on the desk. His hand was still on his quill as he gazed up at her—the twinkling brown eyes, the silky black bangs that fell straight across her forehead, the round, full cheeks. “You tell me, First Enchanter.”

“I think you walk a very dangerous line, Champion,” he replied, giving her a warning look. It was not enough of a deterrent, to Orsino’s failure.

“You think I should make a choice,” she said.

“I think if you try to balance too long, you may fall,” he said.

“I didn’t become Champion of Kirkwall by refusing to act.” It should not have surprised him then, when the Champion leaned across the desk to close the rest of the space between them, and pressed her warm lips to the First Enchanter’s. It shouldn’t have, but it did.

The Champion stayed only a few seconds before withdrawing, looking somewhat chagrined by her own daring. She slid off the desk.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” The cocky attitude was gone; he had never seen the Champion look something so close to _abashed._ “I was just thinking—” The Champion didn’t get a chance to finish, before Orsino had jumped to his feet, seized the front of her jerkin, and pulled her back into the kiss.

The Champion did not pull away this time. She leaned in, bracing a hand against the desk and pressed into it. When they did break apart, the Champion’s lips and cheeks were flushed, and Orsino was sure his own pallid complexion had managed something similar.

“I—apologize, Champion,” he said, trying to fathom what in Andraste’s name had come over him to make that seem like reasonable or even defensible act. “That was…”

“I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “I, uh…I should go.”

“If you must.” Their combined anxious energy hustled the Champion out of Orsino’s office, and he dropped back into his chair, staring blankly at the desk. Was he a fool, not to have recognized it sooner? Was it obtuse, to think she had spent so much time in the Gallows simply out of interest in Orsino’s troubles, or a pure-hearted desire to help? Or was it arrogant to think she had stayed for him? That she might have some interest in an old elven mage?

Orsino groaned and cradled his head in his hands. Was _nothing_ in Kirkwall ever simple?

He had thought that little mishap would keep the Champion well away from his office, but it was not so, and that did not ultimately surprise him. There was no one in the city as impervious to shame, fear, or common sense as the Champion. Naturally she gave it less than two weeks before she returned, chattering away as if it had never happened. Orsino, for his part, was haunted by the feel of her lips and the guilt over his own recklessness.

It took a couple more visit before she addressed the issue.

“About last time,” she began sheepishly as he poured them each a goblet of wine from the small table across the room from his desk. He didn’t need to ask to know she meant not her last visit, but the _one_. “I’m sorry if I made things…difficult.”

“Not at all,” he said robotically as he finished pouring the wine and approached the Champion. “It was—I should have—behaved better.”

“What’s wrong with being a little naughty?” The Champion looked like she regretted speaking as soon as the sentence was out of her mouth, as if she had disappointed, but not surprised herself.

“It’s a bit more difficult in the Circle,” he said, handing her the wine.

“That’s too bad.” Was he standing too close to her? It felt too close—he could see the pink in her cheeks and the simple line of kohl she wore on her lower eyelids. If he backed away now, would it make it obvious he had been standing too close?

“We manage,” he got out.

“Do you?” The Champion had intended to apologize, but there was a burning ember in her eyes that did not mesh with her bashful apologies. 

“…in a fashion,” he allowed.

“That doesn’t sound like managing.”

He was certainly standing too close. He could see the iris spokes in her almond-shaped eyes and the lines curving with her lower lip.

“It’s…” Orsino had been among the youngest First Enchanters ever appointed; he had never wanted for intelligence or education or stubbornness, but the Champion—who had plowed through Kirkwall’s upper crust like a bull, never mind any of the traditions or expectations for her station—might as well have waved her hand and emptied his head of anything worthwhile. “…you can convince yourself it is,” he said at last.

“That doesn’t sound like any way to live.” Had she moved closer? Or only shifted her weight? He hadn’t been watching her feet, but it was possible she had moved.

_This is no life, Orsino_, Maud whispered in his ear. In some separate, isolated part of his mind, he could see the scarred wood of the closet door on the third floor, the outside warped, the inside flame-scorched.

“It’s not.” Wasn’t that what the complaint of so many young mages was? Wasn’t it one Orsino himself had thought, wasn’t it why he had taken the position of First Enchanter when no one else in Kirkwall would? There was one advantage to aging—the fear that might have gripped him in his youth, regardless of his opinions, was much diminished. Why should he fight so hard against something he wanted?

He held the Champion’s eyes for several long beats, and saw when her eyes drifted down to his lips. A good general recognized a lost battle. Orsino was no commander, but he had fought many fights in his life—against Circle administration, against the Templars, against the Chantry. He reached over to set his wine down before returning to the Champion and kissing her without any further quibbling.

She responded by trying to kiss him back and put her goblet down at the same time. He caught her reaching hand, removed the goblet from it, and tossed it aside to clatter against the floor in the corner. That could be cleaned up later.

“First Enchanter,” she said breathlessly when they separated for air. For two heartbeats, they just stared and caught their breath, and then they both moved at once. Orsino seized her waist and the Champion caught his face between her hands and pulled him into another kiss. He could feel the callouses on her palms, well worn-in from the habitual use of her knives. Her hands were warm and sturdy; the Champion had never allowed her newfound wealth to make her idle.

Orsino’s mind struggled to comprehend that he was kissing the Champion of Kirkwall; that the Champion of Kirkwall was kissing _him_. Fortunately, he was able to close that part of his mind off in a distant jail. He was not going to let it ruin his chance to have whatever the Champion was offering.

She took a seat on the edge of his desk and he stepped in to kiss her, placing his hands on her thighs. The Champion drew him in again and he felt her knees press against his sides. She was short for a human—barely two inches taller than him, but with her on the desk, he had to lean up to meet her mouth. The Champion’s hands grasped at his robes and in his office in the Gallows, the First Enchanter of the Circle of Magi kissed the Champion of Kirkwall with tongue.

He couldn’t remember the last time someone had kissed him like that.

“We shouldn’t do this,” he said as soon as they broke apart again. “It’s dangerous.” Well. His run of turning off the buzz-killing logical part of his brain was over.

“Don’t you know?” The Champion stroked her hands down his chest and pinned him in place with her legs. “Danger turns me on.” With the glint in her eyes and the wicked grin on her lips, he could well believe it. What else would compel her to play games with the First Enchanter of Kirkwall? He didn’t have much time to think on it, because she leaned in again. This time, her mouth sought out not his lips, but his neck, burrowing under the folds of his hood to nibble and kiss. Orsino bit down on a groan and his hands grasped the back of the Champion’s hips, pulling her close to him.

“I’ve never seen the inside of the Circle,” she said in a low voice, lifting her face away from his throat. “It must be interesting.” Even Orsino’s dazed mind caught onto the Champion’s meaning.

“I would happy to show you, Champion,” he said, embarrassingly aware of how breathy his voice sounded. Leaving her embrace was agony, but the thrill that swelled in his gut was incredible. When was the last time he broke a rule for his own entertainment? He gathered an armful of papers, so he might presumably be on business, and led the Champion out of his office and off to the Circle.

Keeping his face at its steady, stoic resting expression was ridiculously difficult as he took the Champion through the Circle up to his room. Sneaking a woman up to his room! How old was he? A hundred ideas of what he would do with her paraded through his mind—the Champion on her back with her legs wrapped around his waist; the Champion on top of him, riding him into the mattress; the Champion with her thighs around his head, her back arching off the bed; the Champion on his lap, his fingers buried into her—he would give her absolute ecstasy before she took her leave, of that he was determined.

It was fortunate for Orsino that he had practice in schooling his expression—that came of having to deal not only with the Senior Enchanters, but the Templars as well. He had seen young mages and apprentices trying to sneak things into the Circle, or doing other unbecoming things—their faces gave them away ninety percent of the time. They _looked_ like callow mages breaking rules. He, on the other hand, strode through the Circle with all the authority of the First Enchanter, the Champion of Kirkwall loping along in his wake, and no one questioned him.

“Did Meredith put you all the way up here just to make you climb all these stairs?” the Champion asked as they trekked up to the top of the tower.

“It is traditional for the First Enchanter to take the tower suite,” he said. “Although I’m sure it pleases her to think of me running down all the stairs to meet her summons.” He could hear a note of impatience in her voice, but the walk between his office and his chamber gave Orsino time to relish the excitement of it and think about what he meant to do with her when they arrived.

“Will she punish you, over this?” the Champion queried.

“Only if she catches us,” Orsino replied, throwing a look over his shoulder at her. A crooked smirk tugged at the Champion’s face.

“That’s one of my life philosophies,” she said. As Orsino undid the lock on his door, she leaned back against the wall and watched his hands. He wondered what she was thinking of, and if she would tell him if he asked her. It took him longer to undo the lock than normal, or time felt like it was speeding by, but finally he threw it open and let the young Champion into his quarters.

“Wow.” The Champion walked in slowly and looked around. She unbuckled the harness in which she wore her daggers and dropped it on the floor by the wall. “Damn. Perks of being the First Enchanter, huh?” She turned to look at him with that careless grin, making Orsino take another look around the finely decorated rooms, trying to see the space as she might. It had been almost thirty years since he first moved into the space; nothing about it stood out to him anymore. It was a gilded cage to him now—he imagined it was different for someone who had the freedom to walk back out whenever she liked.

“It’s not bad,” he said.

“I should let you decorate my house,” she remarked. “I have the money now but no idea what curtains to choose.” She went over to the broad stretch of windows along the main wall of the living area and looked out at the darkening city. “Wow. That’s a view. I think I can see all the way back to Ferelden from here!” Orsino was taken aback by the genuineness of her reaction, and he went over to look with her, really look. When was the last time he had stopped to look at the view without being consumed by worries? Was there any part of his life that was not work anymore?

Moreover, how did they pick up where they had left off? Maker, it had been too long since he had done anything like that.

“Shall I bring you a drink?” he offered at last. Wine was always an excellent segue into a rendezvous of this sort.

“No.” The Champion turned to him with that prowling look in her eyes again, and Orsino felt a jolt go all the way through him. “I’m not thirsty. For wine.” She reached out and grasped the folds of his robe as she stepped in. Orsino could not look away from her, and he felt as if energy radiated off of her, the unrelenting, intoxicating energy of the Champion, watcher of Kirkwall. He met her lips when she went in to kiss him and made no disguise of his hunger this time. They were in his own private chambers and the Champion had come to _him._

He wrapped his arms around her waist and tugged her solid, muscular form against him, relishing the press of her breasts against his chest and the feel of her hips under his hands. Fire scorched down his chest, reaching ever lower the longer the Champion held his kiss, until a whimper threatened in his throat because she was simply not close _enough_.

“You haven’t offered me a seat, First Enchanter,” she said when she drew back, her lips shining and wet. “I’ll just have to take one myself.” His title had never sounded remotely erotic until he heard it from the mouth of the Champion of Kirkwall. She broke free from his arms and sauntered over to his bed. She unlaced her boots and threw them aside; any other time, he would have protested their laying all dusty and haphazard in the middle of the floor, but for that moment, anything outside the Champion did not exist. She spread her legs apart and looked expectantly at him.

Orsino was with her again in a heartbeat.

“Forgive my rudeness, Champion,” he said as he reached for her thighs, thick and muscular under her trousers. Would she be so generous as to cushion his ears with them? He could only hope.

“I might,” she said, her eyes dancing. “If you can persuade me.”

“Persuading people is half my job,” Orsino replied. “I’ll see what I can do.” He kissed her, pressing her down onto the bed, climbing onto the edge to hover over her. The Champion made quiet noises of pleasure into the kiss and Orsino felt heat explode low in his belly. How was it _possible_ that the Champion was here? Was this some deluded fantasy of his? Had he fallen asleep in his office, not yet ready to wake with a tent in his robes? He moved his kisses down to her neck and felt her squirm, trying to get nearer to the knee he had resting between her legs. Overtaken with boldness, he pulled loose the laces of her breeches and slipped his hand down the front. He had to know. She could certainly feel his arousal against her, but he had to know if she felt the same. The answer came promptly—she was slick and warm and wanting, and a shiver went through him.

“First Enchanter,” she said, her voice almost a gasp. He met her wide eyes and smirked. “That _is_ persuasive. Let me show you something else.” She pushed him back so she could sit up. Then she dispensed with her leather bracers, her jerkin, and the remains of her clothes from the waist up. She must have known from the look on his face at the sight of her bared breasts that she had the upper hand once more. As he leaned in, she put a hand on the back of his head and guided his face to them, so he could lavish her chest in kisses. He nibbled on the sensitive skin as she had needled his neck before, then sucked on the little sore spots. The Champion sighed and groaned and Orsino moaned at the way she squirmed and shivered at his touch. Her leg rode comfortably between his own, and he fought the urge to rut against her like a beast in heat, to soothe the aching throb between his legs.

The Champion pushed him back again.

“Stand up a moment, First Enchanter,” she said. She climbed off the bed and stripped out of her breeches too, apparently too impatient to remove things piecemeal, then tugged at his robes. There were many layers, and as she was not of the Circle she was likely to be unfamiliar, so he did her the courtesy of helping her remove them. An impish little smile flitted around the Champion’s face as her fingers delved into his robes, likely meaning to assist with their removal, but mostly just getting in the way, particularly with her apparent penchant to grab whatever he uncovered when taking something off. Was Orsino complaining about this? As if! She could grab him wherever she wanted; if it was her inclination to spend all night groping him, who was he to object?

“So many layers! You’re testing my patience, aren’t you First Enchanter?” she asked, looking up at him from under a fan of dark eyelashes, her hands on his hips.

“Naturally,” he said. “It’s the first riddle you have to answer to get into my bed.” It sounded foolish as soon as he said it, but the Champion laughed and stepped closer still, sliding her hands around to seize his ass in a way he was quite sure no one else had.

“You know how impatient I am,” she said. “Show me a knot to untie and I’ll cut it in two.” She captured his mouth with hers and Orsino forgot he was supposed to be taking his clothes off; he sank boneless into her embrace and moaned his need for her against her lips.

“Champion,” he breathed. “I’ve decided to give you a pass on the riddle.”

“See? Efficiency.” The Champion’s eyes gleamed in the low light and her tongue passed over her lips; Orsino was being looked at like he was a meal, and it was _fantastic_. Again, he ought to be taking things off, but in the Champion’s arms, he could press himself against her, which offered some minimal relief from the pressure, and she went on fumbling with his clothes, until they were both down to their shorts, she took to the bed again, and Orsino followed.

“You play a wicked game, Champion,” he said as he climbed over her, eyes roving over the mural of the Champion’s body displayed before him.

“You could call me Hawke,” she said as he settled between her legs.

“And you could use my name as well,” he pointed out, leaning down to kiss her breasts again.

“I like calling you First Enchanter,” she said.

“If you insist, Hawke,” he said. She grinned and dragged him into another kiss, rolling her hips up against his, grinding against the pitched tent in his shorts. Orsino made a sound that he could not have, in any good conscience, even to preserve his dignity, described as anything other than a _whimper_ and pressed himself urgently against her; he could feel the heat of her through the thin cloth of her smallclothes and ached to bury himself into her. His pride on this noise was soothed only by the Champion’s quiet gasping, and the vigor with which she was arching her hips up against him. They both seemed to reach impatience around the same moment, and reached for his shorts in tandem.

“Are you going to wow me with your magic staff?”

_That_ put an immediate end to any and all movement on the bed. Orsino hung his head in dismay and then looked at the Champion.

“I hope you’ve gotten that out of your system,” he said. “No mage has ever heard _that_ one before.” The Champion laughed and he was sure it was the merriest sound his chambers had heard in years.

“I couldn’t resist,” she said. “I haven’t slept with a mage before.”

“Then allow me to treat you, Champion.” Before she could proceed with divesting him of his one remaining article of clothing, he yanked her shorts off and she yelped, followed by giggles. Orsino could, with some effort, recall his last rushed sexual encounter—there had not been any laughter that time, and he decided it had been lacking for that reason. As a young man, the idea of a woman in his bed _laughing _would have been simply petrifying, but now he could think only that the Champion was in a buoyant enough mood to be laughing so easily, and that was better than the melodramatic scenes that played out in some of the novels floating (despite the Templars’ best efforts) around the Circle.

“Oh, you’re getting into it now,” she said.

“Forgive me, it’s been a while since I was a player in this particular game,” he said

“I’m sure you’ll remember quickly,” she said, reaching down and grabbing him before he could register the movement of her hand. Orsino gasped and met the Champion’s eyes at once, that wicked grin stretched across her face. The woman was no fool—could she guess, how long it had been since someone had touched him like that? Somehow, it was different with her hand than the mere grinding of their hips—more personal. The Champion slid off his shorts and silenced anything else he might say—or not say—with a kiss.

She wasn’t wrong, about remembering. He spread the Champion’s delicious thighs apart and bit back a curse—or worse, another _whimper_— as he slid into her for the first time. She shifted on the bed and they settled into a comfortable position before he started to move, thrusting his hips in a steady rhythm. Like learning to cast a barrier spell, he thought with amusement. One never forgot. It had just been over a decade since the last time he’d put any of it to use. The Champion moved her hips with his, driving him in deeper, her hands grabbing at his chest or his hips or his back. He looked down into her wild amber eyes and she thrilled him to his core. While he was awestruck by the Champion, she flipped them over and took her chance to ride him as he had imagined on their way up to the room, her body hot and firm against his, a sheen of sweat starting to shine on her forehead.

Her thighs gripped his hips like a vice and he could see the sinewy muscle rippling in her abdomen and her legs as she rocked on him, reminding him how often she put her considerable fighting skill to use. The candlelight wavered against her tawny skin, throwing shadows around the room as it darkened with the setting of the sun behind Kirkwall’s smoggy clouds.

His body begged him to let go, give him the release he had not had from anyone but himself in far too long, but he was determined that the Champion should have her pleasure first. His hands slid up her hips and one slender-fingered hand moved between her legs to press and rub his thumb against her clit. Carefully, he applied a little shock of cold and was rewarded with a gasp from the Champion and a particularly vigorous bucking of her hips.

“Oh, _yes,_” she cried. “Maker, do that again!” Orsino happily obliged and the Champion threw her head back, tossing her glossy black locks and that was the end of Orsino’s ability to hold out. Bright points of light obscured his vision as the climax hit him and the sensation of her continuing to ride him through it was intense to the edge of pain. To his delight, she hung on until he had recovered before she released and he had the unadulterated bliss of watching the Champion of Kirkwall’s face as she orgasmed. She took a moment to rest, catching her breath, and Orsino lay marveling at the sight of her chest moving as she panted and the look on her face as the pleasure passed. “Can I say…that was _magical_? Have you trained as a force mage, First Enchanter? Because you just stripped down all my barriers.”

“I knew it was too much to hope you had run out of those,” Orsino sighed, shaking his head.

The Champion rolled off of him and lay down, that easy grin on her face. Now, he expected, she would rise and gather her clothes, having gotten the satiation she sought. He couldn’t complain with that—a one-night stand with the Champion of Kirkwall was far more than he had any right to expect, and it was a memory that would warm him for many nights. She leaned over him to place a kiss at the hollow of his throat, her teeth scraping just a bit against his collarbone.

“I think I could get used to sleeping with mages,” she said.

“Don’t expect them all to have self-control,” he advised.

“O_ho_, are you _bragging, _First Enchanter?” Orsino glanced away, faintly embarrassed that she had picked up on it, but unwilling to say no, as the idea of it seemed to entertain her.

“I only mean it’s not entirely unheard of for…mishaps to occur,” he said. Mages setting things on fire, causing spontaneous rainstorms, breaking things…trying to use magic in the throes of passion could easily go wrong for the poorly-trained or those lacking in willpower.

“Well thank the Maker we didn’t have any of those. I’d hate to have to explain one of those injuries to A—a doctor. But please, go on,” she invited, nipping at his earlobe. “You’re making me wonder what other tricks you have up those sleeves of yours.” One of her hands was making its way across his chest.

“I would certainly be remiss not to show the Champion of Kirkwall what the mages of the city are capable of,” he said, running a hand down her side.

“Terribly remiss,” Hawke echoed, running her fingers along his ear to tweak the tip. Humans always seemed to have a fascination with elvish ears; he felt sure they were more important to the humans than the elves. Still, it was not a bad thought that something about his appearance pleased her—Maker, when had he last taken the luxury of vanity?

She was looking at him with hooded eyes, making something stir low in his belly, though it was too soon after his last finish to be ready for that again.

“Then allow me to oblige you, Champion.” He pushed her back on the bed and settled over her, kissing her throat and the joint of her neck and shoulder with a passion he had not expected of himself since he was her age. The Champion hummed and tipped her head back against his pillows, a pleasured stretch passing through her body like a wave.

“You are _most_ obliging, First Enchanter,” the Champion breathed, running a hand through his hair. Her nails scraped deliciously across his scalp and mussed his hair. His mouth ran its path from her lovely throat, down the artful swell of her breasts, over her toned stomach. The soft sounds escaping the Champion’s lips as he worked her over were sweeter than any music he’d heard, and the noise she made when he pressed a kiss between her legs shuddered right through him.

It had been a _long_ time since Orsino had needed to put his quick tongue to work in this way—he couldn’t remember when. But he was set on giving the Champion what she deserved, so slid her legs over his shoulders and studiously applied his mouth. The scent of her, strong after her last orgasm, permeated his nose and he could see streaks of dampness on her thighs—his, or hers, or both. The muscles in her legs twitched when he stroked her in a particular way and he moved his tongue that way again, making the Champion let out a hoarse gasp. When he felt he had worked her up enough, he tested her with a slight warming spell, just the lightest touch of magic, and was rewarded with a moan erupting from her chest.

“_Oh, _yes, that’s nice,” she murmured. He gave her a moment of that before switching quickly to the cold, and the Champion cried out in a way he could not immediately identify as pleasure or pain. Her back arched up and tensed around him; he quickly got back to swirling his tongue around her pleasure point—he was certain she was achingly sensitive after his little tricks. “Oh, fuck. Yes, please, that’s good.” The Champion was starting to babble in earnest, and it spurred Orsino on. If she asked him to spend the entire weekend there, he would have agreed. “Oh, _yes_, First Enchanter,” she gasped, digging her fingers into his bedsheets. “Oh—_Maker, _Orsino, yes!” The sound of his name on her lips, hearing her cry out for him in her bliss was like a draught of pure lyrium. He buried his face in her sex and felt her whole body shiver and tense with her second climax of the night.

She slumped down against the bed when he was done, and when he sat up, she was looking at him with a kind of glassy-eyed satisfaction.

“Are you pleased with the Circle of Magi, Champion?” Orsino asked, delicately wiping at his mouth.

“Very pleased,” she said. “Very impressed. I will have to let Knight-Commander Meredith know how capable the mages of this city are.” Orsino must have given her a very alarmed look because she burst into laughter. “I’m sure she’ll be very glad to know,” she added when she had stopped snickering, and the look returned to his face, making the Champion laugh anew. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’ll keep this one to myself.” She pressed a finger to her lips and Orsino’s shoulders relaxed.

“I would appreciate that, Champion,” he said, moving over to lie down next to her. The awe of her presence hit him yet again, and he thought of the many afternoons she had spent hanging onto his explanations of life in the Circle or the history of magic or whatever pedantic topic he had been foolish enough to think she was genuinely interested in. He knew she had flirted—she had made little secret of it—but he had assumed it was just a game, just the Champion’s way. He had rarely been so deliriously glad to be wrong. “You have a very strange preference, to be here, when there are so many other places you could be.”

“This is where I want to be,” she said. “Or does my company bore you so soon, First Enchanter?” she teased.

“No! Not at all,” he said. Her smile softened and considered reaching out for her, but now she really must be ready to go, and would think it clingy and foolish if he attempted post-coital affection with her now.

“Good. I’ve been called many things—some of them quite unnecessary—but never boring,” she said.

“You couldn’t be boring if you tried, I suspect,” Orsino replied. “There was certainly nothing dull about tonight.”

“Perhaps I should apologize for being so bold,” she said. Orsino snorted.

“Perhaps I should apologize for allowing it,” he said.

“Then we’re both sorry, wonderful,” she said, stretching out and re-settling on the bed, without reaching for a single item of clothing.

“It will be cold out this time of night,” Orsino remarked.

“Probably,” the Champion said.

“There will be gangs about,” he said.

“Oh, certainly.”

“I would offer to walk you home, but the Knight-Commander has confined me to the Circle and my office for the time being,” he said. Hawke laughed.

“Me, walked home by the First Enchanter! What an idea. Meredith would have a conniption. Execute me on the spot, maybe.”

“Execute _you_?” Orsino snorted. “She’s been looking for a reason to put an axe to my neck for at least two years. This would give her just the excuse.”

“Executed for sleeping with the Champion. At least you’ll go out on a high note,” she commented with a smirk. “I’m sure the other mages would approve.”

“There are worse ways to set off the Knight-Commander’s temper,” he said, trying to picture what the looks on his Senior Enchanters’ faces would be.

“Well, it sounds like walking home is an altogether wretched affair.” She left an open pause, and Orsino gave her several seconds to fill it before he made the offer.

“It might be simplest for you to leave in the morning, Champion.”

“Will you be able to get me out as quietly as you got me in?” There was a twinkle in her eye that suggested she was barely bothered with the idea that he would not. In fact, he was quite sure the _only_ reason she was concerned with appearances at all was the idea of the Knight-Commander’s fury if she found out the Champion of Kirkwall was _consorting_ with the First Enchanter.

“I suppose we’ll find out,” he said.

“I suppose we will.” She smiled and he could see her eyelids growing heavy. Trapped in his narrow, restrictive world, it was easy to forget the Champion had work outside of what she did for him. If rumor served, she was a very busy woman—no wonder she was tired now! Even her boundless energy needed renewal.

“Get some rest,” he said. “Tomorrow you may be climbing down the outside of the mages’ tower.” He waved his hand and snuffed out the candles in the room.

“Good thing I brought my climbing boots,” she said sleepily, snuggling into the pillows. Orsino had spent nearly two decades sleeping in a bed big enough for three of him, and it had always seemed ridiculous, although he enjoyed the space to stretch out during the muggy summer heat. But now, it gave him and the Champion room to be comfortable and he was glad he had never given in to getting something smaller.

But now—she had agreed to stay, but was it only for the convenience? It _was_ stupidly difficult to get around Kirkwall at night, and she was tired. Or did she mean to end their tryst on an affectionate note? He watched her stretch and settle in the dark until she curled up with her back to him. Given how much room they had on the bed, she had stayed quite close. Orsino looked at her back and spent several moments debating what to do.

_Don’t be a fool_, he scolded himself. He had just _slept with the Champion._ Now he couldn’t commit himself to embracing her? He draped an arm over her and the Champion responded by loosely linking their fingers on the mattress. Orsino smiled into the blackness and snuggled against her back.

“Goodnight, First Enchanter,” she mumbled.

“Goodnight, Champion.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My headcanon for Orsino is that he's on the short side even for an elf and Hawke will definitely find chances to put her few inches to use.
> 
> Maud was a friend of Orsino's when he was young in the Circle, described in "World of Thedas vol. II". They were good friends but Maud despaired of never seeing her family again and eventually self-immolated, which was a huge catalyst for Orsino starting to take a stand for mage rights.


	2. Whoops x2 (early morning remix)

Orsino could not remember a time he had actually woken with someone in his bed. Exchanges amongst mages were usually hushed, quick affairs and he had not had regular contact with those outside the Circle in years. Orsino’s work had been his life, especially since becoming First Enchanter. He had been appointed notably young, with Kirkwall’s Circle already pursued by the Templars, and he had taken that seriously.

Was it hard to blame him then, for thinking himself still in a dream when he stretched in the morning and felt the warm softness of another body against him? He opened his eyes to the sunlight creeping through the windows at the far end of his quarters, the ones that the living space looked out from, and the Champion of Kirkwall naked in bed with him. Both were extremely welcome sights.

A smile spread across his face, confronted with the Champion’s bare back. He drew a hand thoughtfully up her spine and pressed a few soft kisses to her shoulder. What he meant with it, he didn’t know, but she stirred, shifting the sheets more towards her hips. Was she done with him, now? His hand moved back down to her hip, and he kissed the back of her neck, the ends of her neatly cropped hair tickling his nose. Under the sheets, he felt the shape of her firm backside, and she stirred again. She _had_ to be busy, if she was this toned! If she wasn’t using those blades on the daily, she had to be training. She had a kind of musculature he did not see on any of the mages at the tower. Possibly the Templars were so fit, but one never saw it under all the armor.

“First Enchanter,” the Champion croaked. “This is _highly_ inappropriate.” He froze, and immediate regretted the touching. No one wanted to wake up from a one-night stand being fondled by their partner, especially not when the partner was a graying old mage! “I didn’t say you should _stop_,” she added, and he could picture the smirk, even if he could not see her face.

The girl was going be the death of him.

“I don’t want to presume,” he said cautiously.

“Presume away,” she said. “That feels nice.” Gently, he drew his hand up her back again and she sighed, flattening herself more against the bed.

“I trust you slept well, Champion?” he said, running his fingers up and down her back. He applied a slight warming spell and wished he could see her face as he touched his toasty fingers along her spine.

“Very well, First Enchanter,” she said. “You must have cast _some_ kind of spell over me. Not that I’m complaining, I’m grateful for the sleep.” He flushed lightly, now glad she wasn’t looking at him. What had possessed him? To be so daring? He had not a second of regret for it, but it was hard to imagine himself doing something like that, even when the evidence was right before him.

“I am pleased to hear it,” he said, pressing up against her back again. The curve of her ass fitted to just the right spot, and she turned to look at him as he settled against her, giving him a fresh view of her nude form. His body responded with embarrassing enthusiasm.

“Good morning to you too,” the Champion said. She seemed, as she always did, amused. Like a grinning jester from Orlesian court, the Champion was entertained by all the world and no one could force her to take it seriously.

A blush spread across the old elf’s face. He didn’t have to mention to the Champion that it had been some time since he was occupied in this way—his body seemed determined to let her know. He began to withdraw.

“Hawke—”

“Alright, that was kind of cute,” she said, rolling onto her back to look up at him. “I’ve never seen the First Enchanter flustered before.” She smiled a toothy smile, and blessed him by not bothering to wait for him to fail to respond. “Persuade me,” she said, her smile turning coy.

In the light of morning, it was more difficult to be audacious with the Champion. But she had invited him, so he kissed her—tentatively at first, then spurred on by her response. Hawke’s hand delved into his hair and he felt her smile against his lips. He reached down to stroke her inner thigh and he and the Champion pressed together until any morning chill had been chased away. He took her leg and pulled it over his hip so he could press himself to the coarse patch of hair between her legs. He could feel the heat and dampness of her and rocked against her for a few moments before he entered.

“Mm…are you always so gentle, First Enchanter?” she asked. “I’ve fought Qunari, you know. I won’t _break_.”

“Does it displease you?” he asked. He could hardly be expected to know her preferences from the get-go, but perhaps he should have assumed with her age she wanted something rougher, more animalistic. Something that matched the fire he had seen in her eyes when she turned to face himself and Knight-Commander Meredith, standing over the body of the Arishok, a terrible, sharp smile on her face. The memory, recalled now, with the Champion tight and hot around his member, her hands grasping at his chest, made goosebumps break out on his arms, and he was not certain fear was the only cause.

“No,” she replied, and something softened in her eyes. “No, it doesn’t.” She kissed him, silencing any further remarks, and rolled her hips in time with his until their breathing was atremble and he was again struggling to hold himself back.

“Come on, Champion,” he murmured, reaching down to touch her with his hand as well. “Don’t hold out on me.”

“Wouldn’t—_dream_ of it, First Enchanter,” she panted, shivering as his fingers brushed over her. With two fingers he massaged her to climax and with the sound of her gasping out her orgasm, he allowed himself to finish as well, digging his fingers into her hips with a low groan.

“_Maker_,” he breathed. “Hawke!” The feeling that pulsed through him as he released into her had to be something near divine.

“Well,” she said when she had recovered. “You’ve given me quite the welcome, First Enchanter,” she said. “I may have to spend the night more often.”

Oh. _Oh._

“The Champion of Kirkwall is always welcome in the Circle,” he said, trying to wrap his mind around the wholly new concept that Hawke wanted to come _back._ An impulsive sexual adventure was one thing—coming _back_ was another.

The Champion did not linger on her words, but sat up and stretched, giving him a stunning view of the arch of her back and the bulge of lean muscle in her shoulders. She threw back the covers and emerged into the weak sunlight. At the early hour of the morning, the sun was not yet powerful enough to break through the fog of smoke and cloud cover that hung around Kirkwall. For a moment, Orsino was caught up in the sight of watching her collect her clothes. Then he managed to kick his brain back into sluggish action.

“Let me heat some water for you,” he offered, wrapping the sheet around his waist as he got up.

“Water?” The Champion looked over.

“If you wanted to wash, before you go,” he said, surprised by her confusion.

“Oh!” There was a look on the Champion’s face which seemed to be something like embarrassment. “Yes. Probably a good idea.” Orsino moved as quickly as he could, finding a clean pair of shorts and pulling on just the first two layers of his robes to fetch water for the Champion. As soon as she was gone, he would need to get back to work—there were petitions to write, petitions to hear, nobles to soothe, Templars to cajole…it never ended, never lightened, and never grew any less stressful. He poured a helping of water into the wash basin as the Champion hovered nearby, holding her tunic against herself. He placed his hands against the curve of the basin and in a moment or two, steam curled lightly off the surface. “Oh, I’ve missed that trick,” she sighed, looking at it. Orsino gave her a questioning look, but she did not provide any explanation.

“I’ll leave you to it, then.” He left to dress and straighten the bed, leaving the Champion to some relative privacy in the corner of the living room set aside for washing. She finished around the time he had run out of things to tidy, coming into view fully clothed and smelling like his own lemon soap. That small detail added to what was already a pleasant morning.

“Anything for breakfast?” she asked, hands shoved into her pockets, a crooked smile on her face that seemed to reassure him there was no harm done in sleeping with the Champion of Kirkwall. Twice.

“We usually eat in the dining hall,” he said, glancing away.

“Ah. Not a place I could blend in,” she surmised.

“Please excuse the failure of hospitality, Champion.” Hawke had known exactly what she was getting into when she followed him into the Circle, but it was still embarrassing that he couldn’t offer a parting meal to a woman who had spent the night with him. Not a situation that came up often—Orsino was not a cook himself and never much lamented the lack of a kitchen in his quarters—but it did feel like something he ought to be able to do.

“I think you’ve been _quite_ hospitable, First Enchanter,” the Champion said, the smile growing into that toothy grin. Orsino’s ears felt hot, as if she were chiding him for playing the young man, sneaking a girl into his room at night and plying her for morning sex as well. Could she blame him? It could be another two decades before he was with a partner!

“I’m glad you feel that way,” he said, not quite able to meet her eyes yet.

“I’ll see you around then,” she said, strapping her daggers back on. She went up to him, and there was a terrifying moment Orsino thought she might try to kiss him goodbye. There was no need to worry—she only tweaked the tip of one of his ears, making him twitch at the simple audacity of the gesture (to tweak the ears of the elven First Enchanter!). “Thanks for the tour. I feel like I know Kirkwall’s Circle better than ever.”

“It was my pleasure, Champion,” he said, giving her a formal bow. “I hope it has been illuminating for you.”

“Most illuminating,” she said, smirking as he engaged with her game. “I feel positively _philosophic.”_ A smile tugged at his lips and he gestured towards the door.

“Please, allow me to show you out.”

“I’m not scaling down the wall of the tower?” she asked.

“I think we can find an alternative route,” he said.

“Tsk. I brought my crampons for nothing,” she said, shaking her head.

“Next time,” Orsino said as he opened the door, thinking only of their empty banter and not the suggestion.

“Will there be a next time?” the Champion asked, stepping out of his quarters.

“I suppose that’s up to you, Champion,” he said, meeting her gaze.

“I suppose it is, isn’t it?” she replied. “Unless you plan on sneaking over to my house under the Knight-Commander’s watch.” She laughed. The idea was too ridiculous for Orsino to hold back a snort.

“I like you, Hawke, but I’m not looking to lose my head anytime soon,” he said.

“That would be unfortunate,” she agreed. “We’ll try to keep that off the table.”

“Thank you, I appreciate that. Meredith never seems to do me the same courtesy.” Finding a way to slip the Champion out of the Circle was even more of nightmare than getting her in. The feverish excitement that had possessed him was gone, and the mages were far too used to monotony not to pay attention to absolutely everything new in their midst. He tried to take the least populated routes to the exit, but still had to rush Hawke past several curious parties. At last, he was able to push her out into the fresh air.

“It’s been a delight, First Enchanter,” she said as she stepped out into the cool Kirkwall morning.

“Likewise, Champion,” he said.

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do for you,” she said.

“I always do.”

“See you around!” She gave him a jaunty wave and bounded down the front steps, leaving Orsino to stand at the entrance to the Circle and watch her stroll off into town, wondering what he would do if he were able to follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hawke: Clean up? For what I'm not meeting the queen lol
> 
> Thanks for reading <3
> 
> [On tumblr](https://imakemywings.tumblr.com/post/188183660905/a-little-bit-of-politicking)  
[On Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/posts/867356)


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